Into the Anarchy
by Dinogeek
Summary: Sherlock makes his way to Scotland Yard in the midst of the riots and deals out some rough justice. Written in response to the last few days. First fic. Be safe, England.


A/N: This is in sympathy to the people of London, who are in the wrong place at the wrong time, especially the injured, and those who've lost their homes and businesses. God be with you all. Here's to hoping it stops soon.

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><p>John had texted him. <em>Stuck in the hospital. Not safe to leave. Probably won't be back 'till morning. <em>Sherlock looked at his watch. It was eight thirty in the evening, and already the riots were going strong. Idiots, he thought, with more contempt than even he usually put into the word. Now he'd have to make his way to the Yard through their yelling and looting and brawling to finish up the murder case he'd been working before all this had started. He hesitated, than decided not to don his coat. He didn't want anything to mess it up.

Outside, the sky was clear for now, but the smell of the last three nights' fires hung in the air like an invisible mist. Once again, thoughts of the rioters' stupidity chased themselves through his head with vitriol. As he got closer, the sounds of yelling and things being smashed reached his ears, and he upped his guard as the main road came into view. Morons. There were about one hundred and fifty of them, throwing missiles or breaking windows or, more disturbingly, accosting innocent people. He drew level with a man trying to force his way into a shop past a teenage girl maybe half his size. He got his hand inside the man's collar and yanked him back so hard he almost toppled him over.

The thug was about the same height as Sherlock, and had a good 150 pounds on him in weight. But Sherlock had the advantage of speed and actual fighting ability beyond pub brawling. Still, before he'd (quite) successfully laid the bigger man out, he'd been unable to completely duck a shot to the jaw. He rubbed a hand across the painful red mark, nodded in response to the girl's thanks, and continued on at a much quicker pace. 'No honor among thieves' probably held true for rioters as well, but he wasn't in the mood to take his chances. No, that wasn't entirely true, the hacked off part of him would absolutely love it if another rioter were to try and take him. As luck would have it, the hacked off part got it's wish. A rioter on a BMX bike was zooming around a group of people fleeing a bus with a broken windshield. As the biker sped around in Sherlock's direction, he waited until he was almost directly in front of him, than shoved a hand in his face, withdrawing it just before he would have slapped the man. Well, _that_ got his attention.

Sherlock stood in front of a chest height sign, covering it so it was invisible. The biker zoomed around and headed angrily for Sherlock, who timed his next move carefully. Not yet… The biker got closer. Not yet… Closer still. Not _yet_… NOW! He stepped to the side when the bike was five feet in front of him. What happened next was both amusing and deeply satisfying. The biker hit the sign. He stopped hard. The bike kept going. Sherlock stared down at him impassively. If he wasn't in such a black mood, he'd have worried at least a little about the thug, but the guy was wearing a helmet, he'd be fine. Sherlock doubted he'd take biking back up for a while, though. He made the rest of his way to the Yard without any more spectacular incidents and found Lestrade in his office, swearing up a storm. He rounded on Sherlock.

"Please_,_" he sounded exhausted and harried, "_please_, tell me you've figured out who that bloody murderer is."

"The brother. You look like you need more coffee."

"You can say that again. Did someone punch you in the face?"

"Yes, actually, but I won the rest of the fight." Lestrade leaned his elbows on his desk and rubbed his forehead. Six thousand on-duty officers and there were still buildings burning to the ground.

"Where's John?"

"Trapped in the hospital. It won't be safe to leave until morning." Just then, an officer came in with the report. There was another building on fire. Lestrade let out words in combinations even Sherlock had never heard before.

"Look, can you do me a favor and stay here for the night? It's not safe out there, not even for you."

When Sherlock began to protest, Lestrade cut him off. "No, look, I'm not letting up on this one. You get threatened by people even when they _aren't _in a violent mood. Please, just stay _here." _Finally, Sherlock nodded.

"I'll stay." Lestrade visibly relaxed.

"Thank you." He turned and headed out the door, into another long night of glass bottles, fires, and riot gear as the fight carried on. No rest for the weary.


End file.
